


The last letter

by WroteTheWayOut



Series: Paper airplanes soulmates AU [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Era, F/M, M/M, POV Hamilton, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:47:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WroteTheWayOut/pseuds/WroteTheWayOut
Summary: “Alexander? There's a letter for you.”“It's from John Laurens. I'll read it later.”“No. It's from his father.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because this was not a good week for me, and I was supposed to update my other fic but instead I wrote this. It is basically Laurens' interlude tucked into this AU of soulmates communicating by paper airplanes.

“Alexander? There's a letter for you.”

 

Eliza's words distracted him slightly from his notes. His desk was filled with papers. The real job had not yet begun in that new nation that had just been born, but Hamilton already had in mind hundreds of plans for her. Letters, manuscripts of future plans, old books on economics and politics, all that was scattered on the desk. Alex's dark eyes looked at his wife's over the frame of his glasses.

 

“It's from John Laurens. I'll read it later.” 

 

It was common for John's letters to come late, he knew. His closest friend was busy in his homeland, still replete with redcoats, but he also knew that as soon as he had a free moment he wrote. After all, John was the person who could send him letters without needing more than the wind to deliver them.

 

“No. It's from his father.”

 

That caught his attention. Why would Henry Laurens send him a letter? His heart turned, his hands trembling slightly.  _ No _ .

 

He took off his glasses and looked seriously at Eliza, who was looking at him with concern painted in her beautiful dark eyes, perhaps fearing the same as him.

 

“His father? Will you read it?”

 

" On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3000 men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him."

 

A long silence flooded the room. Alexander glanced down, nailing it into his hands, which now trembled more than before.  _ This can’t be happening _ . He felt as if his heart were torn to pieces, as if a part of his body had been torn from him by force. Tears began to fall silently down his cheeks, wetting the papers in front of his. He clenched his fists tightly.

 

“Alexander. Are you alright?”

 

Of course it was not right. How could he be? John Laurens had been his best friend, the closest person to him. That person with whom he could communicate with just a glance, to whom he could send letters with the wind, the only one to whom he had opened his heart and soul entirely, who could calm him with just one word, that gave him peace just holding his hand.

 

The only man with whom he had decided to share a bed. The first person who had tasted his lips, his skin. The first to whom he had dedicated words of the most sincere and profound affection. The only other person he had ever loved as much as John Laurens stood in front of him, holding that terrifying letter with trembling hands.

 

Oh, Eliza had loved him too. Just because he loved him.

 

The woman approached him slowly, rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. She said no more, it was not necessary. Hamilton knew exactly what she wanted to tell him.

 

John Laurens, his John, had just died. Along with him, his dreams of ending slavery, of having a truly free country. All the plans they had imagined for the future after the war, all the promises made between drinks and kisses. All that had just died, and a part of his soul as well.

 

He looked up so he could look at Eliza. Her cheeks were also covered with tears, and he couldn’t blame her. She knew perfectly well what Laurens had meant to him, had shared beautiful moments with her, laughed and loved together. A perfect harmony of three, shattered by the shot of a bayonet.

 

“I have so much work to do.”

 

That was all he could say, his voice breaking. And she understood, she knew perfectly well. She laid a soft kiss on his forehead and left him alone. He could never recover from that loss, he could feel it in his body, in his heart. But at least he could try to do justice to the dreams of the man he had loved madly. At least he could try to carry out those plans spoken in more violent times, but more simple and happy.


End file.
